


Moments in the life of a baby god

by sqbr



Series: Urthemiel [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Humour, Kidfic, M/M, Multi, OT3, Other, Post-Game, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-05
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqbr/pseuds/sqbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wacky adventures of Zevran, Dane Amell, and Morrigan bringing up the baby Urthemiel. Set after "Dragon Age: Origins", but completely ignores "Witch Hunt" and everything after it since they didn't exist yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Complications

"Morrigan needs me!"

"What, right now?"

"Yes!"

"Well, you go off and help her then, and I shall stay here and sleep. Give her my best greetings."

"Who's Morrigan?" asked Isabella.

"You remember, the woman who was with us when you met Dane at the Pearl. Thin, evil looking, clothes made out of belts and string. She stood glaring at Dane the whole time we were there."

"Oh, _her_. Well, how do you know she's in trouble?"

"She gave me this magical ring, it gives us a connection to each other."

"A ring? Dane, please tell me you're not married. Not that I'd object on moral principles, but I do prefer to know these things in advance."

Zevran snorted. "Worse, she's his ex." Dane scowled.

"Stay here then, if you insist. But _I_ am going to go help her. And if I die, and you are forced to spend the rest of your lonely life with nobody but feisty pirate wenches to comfort you, know that it was within your power to stop it."

"Fine, fine," said Zevran. "Just let me put some clothes on."

* * *

Dane had never used the ring's locating function from his end, and could only hope that when it said "Go north" it did not mean "Sail to the Tevinter Imperium". The feeling was not entirely unlike the pull he felt whenever he was around darkspawn.

It was only after they had been traveling for a few days that Dane realised that another reason it felt like he was being pulled towards a clutch of darkspawn was that he _was_ being pulled towards a clutch of darkspawn. In other circumstances he might have welcomed the battle, since life post the Blight had been a little dull, but as it was he could not help but feel it was a very bad sign.

And sure enough, when they eventually found Morrigan in some woods by the Drakon River, she was in the middle of a pitched battle. Five or six genlocks had her surrounded, with the corpses of several more lying broken and bloody on the ground around her camp. She was not doing too badly, but the strain of fighting them all by herself was definitely beginning to show. Luckily, with Zevran and Dane's help it was short work to clear the field, and the three of them soon sat on an empty patch of grass catching their breath.

"Morrigan," said Zevran, "It is good to see you again. But I cannot help but notice that you are pregnant."

"How observant of you." she replied.

"Are you alright?" asked Dane "I'm glad we got here when we did!"

"I could have managed," said Morrigan.

He held up his hand. "That's not what the ring said."

"Ah," she said. "A mistake on my part, a momentary weakness to let it work both ways. But the reason I..it called you here was not because of this single paltry gaggle of genlocks. I have taken out much worse and more as you well know. No, the problem is this." Morrigan patted her belly, which stuck out visibly from underneath the rags she wore as clothing, now covering even less of her than usual.

"You need help with the baby? I suppose it must be due soon…" asked Dane with a mixture of hope and worry. "I must admit I don't know much about children, but..."

"Yes, I thought to myself 'Who shall I have help me birth this child. Perhaps a midwife, or some local villager? No, wait, I know, I'll call for the man I vowed to never see again, a mage who has no knowledge of children, and is many miles from here. He's the _perfect_ choice'. Do not be a fool. While I knew that bringing up such a child would have it's difficulties what I was not prepared for was the effect it would have on the darkspawn. They seem drawn to it, and the effect grows daily. I can kill them without too much trouble now while I am upright, but there will come a time soon when I am too..incapacitated for battle. That is what I need you for." She paused and added awkwardly "And you did promise that if I ever needed help..."

"Yes, of course! We will defend you, won't we Zevran?"

"Far be it for me to ignore a damsel in distress," he replied. "I must ask, though, Morrigan, since _certain people_ have apparently been keeping me in the dark, what is so special about this child? And dare I ask who the father is?"

Zevran took it surprisingly well. Not that Dane had expected him to be jealous exactly, but it had still been a big secret for Dane to keep to himself, and a pretty intense situation to drag Zevran into unaware. He did ask Dane if the child felt like darkspawn to him, which prompted a laugh from Morrigan.

"Indeed, t'would be better to know that before the birth, were it true. In fact, I am curious to know what your grey warden senses tell you about her myself."

"Her?" Morrigan smiled at Dane and his heart lurched. Oh he was _doomed_.

He put his hands on Morrigan's stomach. He definitely did not feel the presence of darkspawn. Mostly he felt...warmth. Life. "Power" he said. He felt an irresistible wave of affection for this child, _his_ child. "I feel no taint here. Not even the taint I can sense in other grey wardens. " He held his hands there a moment longer then let go and stood back.

"Morrigan, I..."

"You what? Want this child? Now that it comes to it you are not willing to let me, to let her go? Do not make me regret asking for your help."

"Morrigan, please. When have I ever tried to control you? You said love was a trap and so I let you go. Until you called for me I respected your wish that we never see each other again, though it cut me deeply to agree to it. But I love you, and I will love this child, and if there is any way that I can be a part of your lives then yes, that is what I want. But why is that so bad?"

"You love me? And what of Zevran?"

"I love him too."

"You are impossible. Do you envision some happy little family, the three of us in some cottage raising chickens, our daughter laughing in pigtails as she plays with dolls and then grows up to get married and have babies of her own? She is a _god_ Dane. Bringing her up will not be like being a parent to any mortal child. I have no reason to think she will be childlike at all, or will even be able to recognise human concepts like 'mother' and 'father'. Do you really want that, to see your child become such a being?"

"If it must happen, then let me be here for it. And while, yes, there is some appeal to your little vision of cottages and chickens, you know me, I would be as bored as you would. Father to a god however, that sounds like quite an adventure."

Morrigan looked dubious, but this was a step up from outright negativity. "We shall see." she said. "But if I let you stay, do not expect to come back into my bed."

"Understood." Dane grinned. "Though if you ever decide you feel like some male companionship..."

"I think I will manage to resist somehow."

"We are rejected, Zevran!"

"Ah, my heart. Come Dane, let us console each other in our loss, finding what comfort we can together in these last few hours before we are devoured by your demon child."

"I should have left myself to the mercy of the darkspawn," muttered Morrigan.


	2. Motives

Zevran was not by nature a very religious man. At least, he had very little time for the formalities of religion. It had been many years since he had sung the chant, and he could not remember the last time he had entered a Chantry for less practical reasons than the release of prisoners or to hide from darkspawn. Being raised by whores and spending his adult life as an assassin had also given him a much more flexible attitude to sin than was usually espoused by those priests he had discussed it with (frequently before bedding and/or killing them)

Still. He had always liked the _idea_ of the Maker, and as much as he might bend His rules here and there Zevran had regardless liked to think that he was, on the whole, on the Maker's side. Those he assassinated were more often evil than not, after all, and it was not as if he had ever engaged in anything really wicked like devil worship or blood magic. He had even helped find Andraste's ashes!

It was thus that even his sinning, lapsed Andrastian heart quailed a little at the idea of bringing an Old God into the world. The Old Gods were not just sinners, they were the _very source of sin_. They had taught man magic, and as a result brought demons and the Blight into the world!

Of course, being mages, Dane and Morrigan had a rather different attitude.

"Are you saying you believe all that?" said Dane irritably, when Zevran asked him about it. "About magic being inherently sinful and mages nothing but abominations waiting to happen?"

"Not _exactly_. But you must admit, magic is a very dangerous thing. Would not you and your friends at the Circle Tower have been happier if you had never been given this gift? I am sure it can not be pleasant to be constantly on guard for demons trying to take over your soul."

"No, it isn't," he replied. "But many things in life are both powerful and dangerous, and that does not necessarily make them a sin. And we only have the word of the Chantry for what happened, it's no surprise that _their_ version of the story paints the Maker as the hero and the Old Gods as the villains. Something Morrigan pointed out to me is that even the Chantry says that it was not the Old Gods who created the Fade, or the demons, or even the Blight, but the Maker. The very worst the Old Gods are accused of is teaching humans _about_ magic, and that does not sound so very sinful to me."

"Oh, _Morrigan_ says this does she? And of course, unlike the Chantry, she could have no ulterior motive colouring _her_ interpretation of these theological matters. Here she is performing this perfectly innocent blood magic to create a child with the soul of a demon, how _dare_ I think there might be anything _sinister_ going on!"

"I thought you accepted it!"

"I accepted that we should help her. I am not the most chivalrous of men, but I am not going to leave a pregnant woman to be devoured by darkspawn. And if this child is an Old God, well, better that it remain itself, sinful or not, than become tainted and start this whole Blight business all over again. But that does not mean that I am _happy_ with the situation."

"Nobody is forcing you to stay. I can look after things here myself, feel free to go join a Chantry and pray for forgiveness from your Maker if it makes you feel better."

For a moment Zevran considered it. Well, not joining a Chantry, obviously. They were not big on accepting men or elves, not to mention being incredibly dull places by all accounts. But he was under no obligation to stay and take part in this madness. The Blight was over, the Crows mostly off his tail, and it was not as if he and Dane had made any explicit commitment to each other. He could be free, taking what jobs he liked and sampling the sights and women of any city in Thedas, rather than stuck here in the middle of nowhere with a woman he didn't trust, an unborn baby with the soul of an archdemon, and this man who expected him to put up with it all.

Zevran groaned and rested his head on Dane's chest. "No, you are stuck with me I am afraid. Why I put up with you dragging me into these disasters I do not know, perhaps you have cast some sinful mage spell over me. I can certainly think of no other explanation."

"Yes, that is it exactly, you have caught me out. Well, I have no choice now but to kill you and sacrifice you to my evil gods." Dane kissed him. "But maybe tomorrow, I'm too sleepy for all that mess and effort right now. And until then I am very glad to have you with me, thankyou."

"Until tomorrow then."


	3. Temple

The temple was hidden in the back room of the tavern of a small village on the northern coast. It had taken months of searching to find it, and even when they arrived the townsfolk had been closemouthed, it had taken all of Dane's powerful skills at persuasion to gain admittance. He was uncomfortably reminded of Haven.

The stone of this room was obviously much older than that of the rest of the building, and had been worn by age and use. A small simple table acted as the altar, and was neatly decorated with candles, flowers and musical instruments, as well as a few strange little statues. On the wall was a carved mural, geometric shapes fighting for space with dancers and mythological creatures, and in the centre of it stood a long haired man with dragon wings playing the pipes.

"Look, Urthemiel!" said Morrigan cheerfully "That's _you_!"

"Goo," said Urthemiel.

"Or at least that's what the Tevinter who built this temple thought you looked like," said Dane. "I'd like to think it's some sort of metaphor, wings on a human are just silly. Then again I'm not sure dragons can play the pipes." He looked carefully at the mural, trying to see any resemblance between the softened features of the old god and those of the baby in his arms. "There's a thought, Morrigan. If Urthemiel is a man, or at least male, won't he mind being born in the body of a girl?"

"He's spent the last few thousand years as a female dragon, I doubt a female human would be any worse. And given that _all_ the Old Gods were female dragons I am inclined to think that they were in fact female in nature, assuming it even makes sense to apply the idea of gender to a God. I would not be surprised if it was only the Tevinter's inability to imagine any _woman_ could be so powerful that made them classify the gods as male in the first place."

"Well, then they had obviously never met the likes of you."

Morrigan smirked. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Really?" said Zevran. "Then, my dear Morrigan..."

"It will get Dane everywhere. It will get you nowhere."

Meanwhile, Dane had angled himself over the table to hold Urthemiel up to the mural. She placed her hands on the face of the god. Everyone held their breath.

Nothing happened.

Urthemiel batted at the stone a few times and then, as disappointed as everyone else that it failed to do anything interesting, got bored and started reaching for some of the shinier objects on the table. Dane quickly stepped back before she managed to set herself on fire on the candles.

When Urthemiel looked like she was about to voice her disappointment at the shiny being taken away by screaming he grabbed the least dangerous looking ornament on the table for her to play with. She took it enthusiastically- and immediately hit herself in the head, at which point she _did_ start screaming.

"You know, I am not sure that people like you should be allowed to be parents," said Zevran. "Even aside from all the blasphemy."

As Dane started walking around the room trying to calm Urthemiel down, Zevran turned to Morrigan. "Has it ever occurred to you that she is perhaps _not_ a god? She has not shown any signs of being anything other than an ordinary child to me."

"And I suppose that when Dane killed the archdemon it's soul just..puffed away? And all these darkspawn that keep being drawn to us, that were drawn to her even when I was not traveling with a grey warden, they are just a coincidence? I know you do not have any affinity for these things, elf, but trust me when I say that she is no ordinary child. I will admit, I was expecting some more obvious signs of godhood than we have thus far been given, but I am sure her true nature will show itself in time. It is early days yet."

"Well, for myself I hope she _is_ just an ordinary little girl. They are scary enough creatures as it is."

As she watched Dane and the owner of the tavern get into an increasingly heated tug of war as they tried to persuade Urthemiel to let go of the ornament, a small part of Morrigan could not help but wonder if he was right.


	4. Blood

"You know," said Dane to his daughter, "For someone with no teeth you have quite a bite."

She glared at him and continued to gnaw on his knuckle.

Lacking the use of either of his hands he gave up on getting anything useful done and went for a walk. Growing up in the Circle Tower he'd never had the chance to see much nature, and despite having walked what felt like every square foot of Ferelden several times over during the last few years the novelty still hadn't entirely worn off. The woods around their current camp were quite picturesque in a generic sort of way.

Zevran and Morrigan had abandoned him to go looking together for herbs, since Dane wasn't much good at identifying anything that didn't come dried in a packet with a label attached.

"Maybe if we're very lucky, Emiel, they won't kill each other before they're done."

It was probably too much to expect the two of them to become friends in seven months when they had barely managed to remain civil to each other during the years fighting the Blight, but they did seem to be getting along better recently. In his vainer moments Dane thought that might be because their current romantic arrangement left neither party worried that he was about to leave them for the other, but he had a suspicion that their feelings for Urthemiel had more to do with it than their feelings for him.

"And if you can make your mother and Zevran become friends maybe you really do have cosmic...Ow!"

Dane pulled out his finger in pain and looked at it. Beyond being rather pink and wrinkled it had a small red gash leaking a trickle of blood.

"What's this? Have you developed fangs at last my little..."

Dane stopped as he looked at Urthemiel. Her face was contorted in a rictus of misery, and she was wiping at her mouth ineffectively with her hands as if trying to get rid of some horrible taste. She sobbed quietly and looked at him with a face of betrayed anguish.

"What's wrong, my blood not to your liking?"

Maker's name. His blood. His _tainted_ blood.

"MORRIGAN!"

Dane rushed back to camp and found a water skin. He had just finished washing out Urthemiel's mouth when Morrigan and Zevran arrived.

"What is it?" asked Morrigan. "From the sense of danger I got from you I was expecting hordes of ogres or somesuch."

"My blood," said Dane "Does it contain enough Taint to turn Urthemiel back into an Archdemon?"

"You fed her your _blood_?"

"Not on purpose! She has apparently finally developed teeth, and decided to use them to bite me."

"Are you sure she swallowed any of your blood?"

"It could not have been much, but she reacted very strongly, as if she'd been poisoned, and even now keeps flinching from my touch." He gestured towards Urthemiel, who was lying in a pile of clothes, and as if on command she pulled herself away from his hand as far as she could.

Morrigan picked her up and frowned. "I do not _think_ your Taint should hurt her. After all, she is _made_ from a part of you, if not your blood. And you are not so very tainted after all, not like some infected ghoul able to spread the contagion to anyone he bites." She did not look very comforted by her own words. "I could make her vomit to get any last traces of your blood out of her system, but with such a small amount I am not sure t'would make much difference, and it might weaken her and thus make it even easier for the infection to take hold. "

"Perhaps it will do her good, protecting her from the Taint the way that the grey warden's ritual protects them," said Zevran.

"You know, that is actually a halfway intelligent remark, I am surprised at you Zevran."

He bowed. "I live to serve."

"If she is offered the same protection," continued Morrigan, "I would hope it does not come at the same price. For as much as I will miss Dane in thirty years when the Taint finally takes him, I would be even more upset were Urthemiel to become an Archdemon and start another Blight. Regardless, I will prepare what remedies I can and we must hope for the best."

"You'll miss me?"

"Away with you both, I am busy."

As the days passed with no visible ill effects they all began to hope that no lasting damage had been done. Much to Dane's relief Urthemiel stopped treating him with such suspicion and mostly returned to her usual affectionate self. But she never bit him again even when she was in the worst of teething and chewing on everything in sight, and she would sometimes just stop and stare at him with a look of the most baleful resentment.

"Perhaps it is not your blood she objects to," said Zevran "But that she has remembered that you are the one who killed her."

"That really doesn't help." said Dane.


	5. Old friends

The air of the city of Cumberland stank with a mixture of smoke, rotting seaweed, and filth. Zevran took a deep breath and sighed happily. He was indescribably glad that they had finally been able to persuade Morrigan to let them visit a proper city. That said city had ended up being in another country all together was an added bonus.

He turned to his companion. "So, we are gentlemen of leisure while our fine lady is off reading forbidden tomes and learning of things beyond the ken of mortal man. What say you to drumming up some illegal cash flow?"

"_One_ of our fine ladies is off looking at books. I am not sure the other would appreciate the company of thieves and cut-throats," said Dane, nodding his head towards the small child sitting on Zevran's lap, staring awestruck at the bustling city around her.

"Fie upon you. Thieves and cut-throats are the very best company for children! They are so much more exciting than regular people!"

"Uh huh. And I'm sure Morrigan would tell you that growing up in a forest with only an abomination for company was a good environment for a child too."

"While I suppose _you_ think Emiel would be happiest with her mother, locked up indoors in the College of Magi, playing with mouldy old tomes and trying not to get declared a crime against nature by the Chantry."

Dane coughed. "Well, she would be out of all this sun."

"Let us compromise then: we go spend what little coin we have left at the markets buying impractical Nevarran knick-knacks and ogling the local beauties. When our little dragonlet here tires of this you take her back to our lodgings and I go find us some paying work by myself."

"Agreed."

They had only just begin to put this plan into action when they were halted by a loud voice ringing across the square.

"ZEVRAN!"

They both immediately went into fighting stances, at least as much as they were able. Zevran stopped himself just in time from reaching for his dagger behind Urthemiel's head, while Dane's fingers itched to hold the staff he had left back in their quarters. It was with great relief that they realised that the man cheerfully waving at them from the other side of the market was _not_ one of the Antivan crows. Of course, they were now faced with the question: what was the King of Ferelden doing in Navarra?

"Alistair!" said Zevran. "It has been too long my friend!"

"It has," he said, sounding a little hurt. "I got this shiny new castle with all these fancy guest rooms and you never come visit! But who is this?" He waved and grinned at Urthemiel, who looked back at him with deep suspicion.

"This is Emily," replied Zevran noncommittally.

"Hello Emily!" said Alistair. "Wow, what a pretty little girl she is! I mean I know everyone compliments other people's babies, and they are all adorable, but truly. I just want to give her a big hug!" Urthemiel shied away at this and shook her head expressively. "But I won't if you don't want me to! It's ok!" He turned to Dane. "Did you know I have a little girl? Cutest thing you ever saw. Well, maybe not quite as cute as Emily, though don't tell my wife I said that. Not doing much right now except crying and making a mess, unfortunately, I can't wait until she gets old enough to start expressing herself, even if she turns out not to like hugs either." He sighed happily.

"Well, it was great seeing you Alistair," said Dane. "But we really must go. Say hello to everyone else if you see them."

"Bah!" said Alistair. "Whoever's waiting for you, tell them the King of Ferelden stole you away and wouldn't let you do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. I haven't seen you guys in over a year! Maybe two! You three are coming back with me to the castle, the cooks there make the most amazing cakes, I bet Emily would love them. If I'd have known about these cakes at the time I would have made a diplomatic tour of Navarra my first order of business after my coronation."

"We really are in too much of a hurry to go all the way to the castle," said Zevran "But we could perhaps spare a few minutes to sit and chat."

"Fair enough. Have you been in the city long? I found this great little place just off the..."

Suddenly Urthemiel stiffened in Zevran's arms. He cursed himself when he realised that they had let Alistair lead them right past a Chantry.

The chanter standing in the front of the Chantry perked up at this chance to preach to an audience.

> From their ancient prisons they will sing.  
> Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,  
> On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,  
> The first of My children, lost to night.

"Dendenden!" said Urthemiel to Zevran urgently. "Stamamatoon!" She started to cry.

"Poor thing!" said Alistair "Don't like the chant, huh? I found it a bit scary myself when I was a child, you get used to it eventually."

"Ahaha. Yes. All that vocal projecting, you know. She thinks they are yelling at her. Let us move on."

It soon became clear that they needn't have worried quite so much about Alistair getting them to answer a lot of awkward questions: that would have required him to leave them a chance to get a word in edgewise.

"Have I told you about my wife, Elissa? She's wonderful. It was an arranged marriage, and I was worried she'd be really ugly or mean or something but she's _great_." He sighed and smiled off into the distance. "She's smart and pretty and even good at fighting! The sort with swords that is. Though she's pretty good at fighting with me, too, if I wasn't the king I'm not sure I'd ever get my own way. And her eyes..."

"Alistair, if you do not stop being so _absurdly_ romantic this instant I may have to kill you. Frankly I am disgusted."

"Yes, alright, I'm sorry, I know you two don't _believe_ in love."

"Not believe in love! Alistair, I am insulted! Why, I believe in all _kinds_ of love."

"It's true. Why last night..."

"Ok, now _I'm_ disgusted. You know there's a child present, right?"

They grinned. Untroubled by the conversation around her, Urthemiel burbled happily and started to chew on the table.

"But wait, if you guys are still together, who's the mother?"

"I am," said Zevran "It was quite a surprise, and you don't want to know about the birth. But overall it has worked out surprisingly well for me."

"Ha ha." Alistair stuck his tongue out. Then he stopped and looked at Emily more closely. "Wait, Zevran's not the father, is he? It's Dane! Oh this explains everything!"

"Uh," said Dane.

"You were worried I'd got to the Templars, weren't you? And tell them you'd had a child!"

"Um. Yes," said Dane.

"Well, frankly, I'm hurt. I know I was in training to be a Templar, but I'm not as rigid as all that. I see no reason to get the Templars involved, especially since she's so young. I'm sure that if she ends up showing any magical ability you'll do the right thing."

"Of course," said Dane. "By my own measure of 'right'," he added mentally.

"And wait...Maker's breath! I remember you told me you were going to try to find Morrigan. PLEASE tell me she's not the mother."

"If you insis,." said Dane, flatly.

"By the Maker. With you two as parents I'm surprised Emily isn't shooting lightning out of her fingertips and declaring herself Mage Queen of Thedas."

"That she does not do this is a constant source of surprise to me, too," said Zevran.

"And Morrigan doesn't mind about you and Zevran?"

"We eventually came to an understanding."

"Well, as long as you're all happy I suppose," he said a little dubiously. "Anyway! Have I told you the news about about Oghren?"

An hour or so later, as they took turns carrying a very sleepy Emiel back to their rooms Zevran said "Well, that went better than I would have expected. And it was good to see Alistair again, though he was behaving a little oddly."

"He was a bit. Still, it was good to hear everyone is doing well. Anyway, I would just like to say: as Emiel's father, I think it is only right that I be the one who gets to use her as a shield when Morrigan finds out that Alistair knows we have a child."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urthemiel's dialogue is based on the Greek for "don't" and "stop" (not that the Tevinter Imperium is Greece exactly, but it will do). I was going to have Alistair comment on how it sounded almost like Tevinter but I couldn't get it to flow naturally.


	6. Home

"I cannot understand why Dane's parents left Rivain," said Zevran. "This country is _marvellous_. The people, the food, the weather...it's like being in Antiva, but they treat elves with respect and nobody is trying to kill me."

"Marvelous for an Antivan perhaps," said Morrigan. "But as a Fereldan I find the people incomprehensible, the food inedible, and the weather insufferable."

"You know I am not sure I have ever heard you call yourself a Fereldan before. Has all this travel away from home brought out your patriotic side?"

"If it be patriotism to prefer cool forests and snowy plains to this sticky oven of a country then yes, all hail Ferelden and it's glorious king."

"Well, Emiel seems to like it."

"She does at that."

Once Urthemiel had started to talk and be able to properly understand what was being said around her it had been increasingly difficult to keep her safe and happy in any of the Andrastian states. She had yet to express her feelings on religion, or any memories of her past life, by anything more coherent than "The Maker is bad", but saying such things loudly every time she encountered the Chant or any other references to the Maker was still enough to get her into trouble.

And although she acted like a typical little girl most of the time, she had still gotten odd looks from the inhabitants of the towns they passed through when she started singing in Tevinter or authoritatively rearranging the objects on market stalls to be more aesthetically pleasing. Morrigan's solution to both of these problems had been for them to keep to the woods and interact with other people as little as possible, but Dane and Zevran had been quite adamant that this was _not_ an acceptable solution, and she had eventually been persuaded that they were right.

But in Rivain, there was no Chantry. In fact, the Rivaini did not worship gods at all, at least not as Morrigan understood the term, yet they had no problem with those who did, whether those gods be old or new.

And since few here spoke Fereldan, if Urthemiel lapsed into a language they didn't understand people just assumed it was whatever strange tongue her parents spoke. The fact that the only one of them who spoke fluent Rivaini was Zevran was a definite inconvenience, but Dane was slowly regaining the language he had lost when he was taken by the Templars, and Morrigan preferred to keep to herself anyway.

Morrigan was struck by how far her current situation was from what she'd had in mind when she'd set Urthemiel's birth in motion. She had imagined herself the mother of some transcendant being, a force of chaos and wonder to remake the world into who knew what. She had prepared herself for death, for disaster, for the God to be ungrateful and turn on her. But not this, a scene not far removed from the vision of chickens and cottages she had dismissed as impossible those few years past. Of course, there was still the chance for death and disaster, but she saw no need to dwell on it.

Morrigan looked with affection on her daughter, curled up with Dane on the couch. Urthemiel had recently started refusing to wear any clothes that weren't red, but coordinated them with a dazzling and seemingly random array of accessories and decorations, from necklaces stolen from Morrigan's jewelry box to mud and feathers. Though this should have looked absurd she somehow managed to carry it off with such certainty and grace that you couldn't help but look at her and wonder why nobody else wore seashells in their hair. She had started quite a trend amongst her friends in the town.

Her daughter had friends! This was another thing that had not been a part of Morrigan's plans, but she could not regret it.

Speaking of which, there was something she had been meaning to say, and the tiny little voice of her conscience had become uncharacteristically insistent and would not let her ignore it any longer.

"Zevran..."

"Yes?" He looked up from the table, where he was sharpening his knives in preparation for a job they were performing on the morrow.

"I am not sure that I have ever...thanked you. For your help when I was giving birth, and for all you've done since then. You had no bond of blood tying you to Urthemiel and me, yet you have been as another father to her, and I appreciate it. And as much as I frequently find you infuriating, your company has not always been _entirely_ unpleasant." She tried to think of some graceful way to exit the conversation but could think of nothing but "That is all."

Morrigan waited for the inevitable innuendo laden response but Zevran just smiled. "You are welcome, Morrigan. You have saved my life many times as well, you know, and your company is not always entirely excruciating either. And were it not for you and your evil witchy plans my life would have been much less rewarding. For a blasphemous crime against all that is good in the world your daughter is quite endearing, and I am glad to have been a part of both your lives."

"Nnng..." said Dane, opening his eyes and lifting his head. "Are you guys going to have sex now?"

"What? No!"

"Then can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."

Morrigan walked over and poked him in the side. "_You_ should not have stayed up all night drinking with strange men you met at the docks."

"S'not strange men. S'contacts," he muttered, before covering his eyes with his arm and going back to sleep.

Zevran chuckled and Morrigan smiled to herself. There might not be chickens, and there was no way to say what the future would hold, but for now this would do.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling I have the developmental stages of babies mixed up here. If so...she's a god!baby! They're different! :D


End file.
